"Philip Jose Farmer - The Sliced Crosswise Only on Tuesday W" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farmer Phillip Jose)

with three days of spring to enjoy. But he would have to use up his two days off to
shop for clothes, bring in groceries and other goods, and get acquainted with his
housemates. Sometimes, he wished he had not been born with the compulsion to act.
TV'ers worked five days at a stretch, sometimes six, while a plumber, for instance,
only put in three days out of seven.
The house was as large as the other, and the six extra blocks to walk would be good
for him. It held eight people per day, counting himself. He moved in that evening,
introduced himself, and got Mabel Curta, who worked as a secretary for a producer, to
fill him in on the household routine. After he made sure that his stoner had been
moved into the stoner room, he could relax somewhat.
Mabel Curta had accompanied him into the stoner room, since she had appointed
herself his guide. She was a short, overly curved woman of about thirty-five (Tuesday
time). She had been divorced three times, and marriage was no more for her unless, of
course, Mr. Right came along. Tom was between marriages himself, but he did not tell
her so.
"We'll take a look at your bedroom," Mabel said. "It's small but it's soundproofed,
thank God."
He started after her, then stopped. She looked back through the doorway and said,
"What is it?"
"This girl тАж"
There were sixty-three of the tall gray eternium cylinders. He was looking through
the door of the nearest at the girl within.
"Wow! Really beautiful!"
If Mabel felt any jealousy, she suppressed it.
"Yes, isn't she!"
The girl had long, black, slightly curly hair, a face that could have launched him a
thousand times times a thousand times, a figure that had enough but not too much, and
long legs. Her eyes were open; in the dim light they looked a purplish-blue. She wore
a thin silvery dress.
The plate by the top of the door gave her vital data. Jennie Marlowe. Born 2031
A.D., San Marino, California. She would be twenty-four years old. Actress.
Unmarried. Wednesday's child.
"What's the matter?" Mabel said.
"Nothing."
How could he tell her that he felt sick in his stomach from a desire that could never
be satisfied? Sick from beauty.
For will in us is over-ruled by fate.
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

"What?" Mabel said, and then, after laughing, "You must be kidding?"
She wasn't angry. She realized that Jennie Marlowe was no more competition than
if she were dead. She was right. Better for him to busy himself with the living of this
world. Mabel wasn't too bad, cuddly, really, and, after a few drinks, rather stimulating.
They went downstairs afterward after 18:00 to the TV room. Most of the others
were there, too. Some had their ear plugs in; some were looking at the screen but
talking. The newscast was on, of course. Everybody was filling up on what had
happened last Tuesday and today. The Speaker of the House was retiring after his term
was up. His days of usefulness were over and his recent ill health showed no signs of
disappearing. There was a shot of the family graveyard in Mississippi with the
pedestal reserved for him. When science someday learned how to rejuvenate, he